thejunipertree: (Default)
I'm going to be buying a new car (hopefully) in the next couple of weeks and the idea of it, the enormity of it, is sending me into anxiety-ridden states of panic.

As it is, I am loathe to give up the Caddy. She's a great beast of a car and I have loved her for many, many years. Sadly, when one is afraid of driving long distances for fear of what may happen, it's usually a sign. As of a few weeks ago, the driver's side door decided to give up the ghost and no longer opens at all from the outside, which is a quite lovely addition to the fact I already can't unlock it from the outside. Before, I had to unlock the passenger side, lean over and unlock the driver's door. Now I have to do all of those things and actually open the door from the inside. Oh, and the passenger side doesn't open from the inside. It's a lot of fun.

Door issues aside, the engine runs fairly well (if a bit loud), but it is pushing 90K miles. I'm losing my tailpipe slowly as it's corroding away from its middle bits and something is making a rather annoying squeaking sound from the back of the car somewhere.

All of the original issues of the headliner falling down around my ears, a terribly cracked dashboard, wonky climate control, and absolutely wrecked seats are all still present. It's also just beginning to rust on the roof and the nose.

After next semester, I'm going to have to start traveling to Trenton for funeral school and the idea of taking the Caddy that far and back several times a week gives me The Fear. Not only because I'm unsure if it can withstand that amount of driving, but also because the car only takes premium gas and the amount of money I would have to put out to keep the tank full would most likely rival my student loans.

So, it's new car territory a-hoy.

My mind is already made up. I want a Mini Cooper. It doesn't have to be brand new. Just a Mini. Black. Preferably with a black roof, although I wouldn't turn up my nose at a white roof. No bells and whistles, I don't require them. But, it absolutely must be an automatic. I can't drive stick and despite how many manual drivers telling me how great it is to drive stick and how blessedly easy, I am uninterested. I'll learn how, sure. That's no problem. But, I'm not buying a manual.

I have some money squirrelled away for a down payment. The little pile will be growing slightly on Friday when I get paid. But, I've never done this before. I've never bought a car, had a car payment, had my own car insurance. The idea of all of these new bills also gives me The Fear. My paychecks are currently alright. I do basically ok. One fucked up set of circumstances would severely screw me, though. Putting car payments and insurance premiums into this mix? I could do it. It's just going to suck. And if I have to get my apartment when my lease is up (this is a whole other story I don't have the energy for at the moment), it's going to really suck.

I spoke to a co-worker's husband this evening who works for a car dealership and he gave me some ideas of what to expect and how to pursue all of this. He also killed my hopes of using the Mini Select financing (it's a balloon loan) by telling me it is a Very Bad Idea to get into that sort of thing. He did, however, tell give me quite a lot of ideas on how to approach this.

This week, I have to go to my bank and see about getting outside financing for the car loan. I'm not sure how it's going to go, but he told me it would be wise to make that my first step.

I just want a little reliable car that doesn't cause me to go into wild amount of debt and misery. Why do the Powers That Be make this kind of thing so goddamn difficult and nerve-wracking? I am, at turns, completely over the moon at the idea of having a car that actually does what it is supposed to do 100% of the time (and unlock it from the driver's side!) and completely terrified.
thejunipertree: (Default)
I'll start with yesterday.

I went to my Introduction to Counseling class. We had our first test to take and were allowed to leave as soon as we were finished. Being that Counseling is a butt-easy class, I was done the test in fifteen minutes. I was in my car and cruising home, with visions of glorious fucking-around-and-doing-nothing-at-home dancing in my head. Maybe I'd study Human Biology for a bit, maybe I'd play some video games. I hadn't really decided at that point; I was more focused on enjoying my drive home.

I get home and immediately go into my room to check my answering machine. On my bed are three of my four cats. Nympho, Mittens, and Lunchbox Tinker. I laid down on the bed and talked to Nympho for a bit because it's so rare to catch him napping in my room. Tinker moseyed up and acted like a douchebag because he hates it when someone else is getting all the attention. Mittens walked up and started to weasel around me for some petting. I reached over and rested my hand on the back of Mittens' neck, in the usual spot where I scratch him, and my fingers touched what I thought felt like a scab.

"What did you do to yourself now, buddy?" I twiddled my fingers gently around his neck, feeling for the dimensions of the scab and trying to figure out if it was Tinker-caused. When I pulled my hand away, it was covered in blood.

I'll repeat that part: covered in blood.

I picked him up to look at his scruff, but his fur is so thick and the lights in my room are rather dim. So, I brought him into the bathroom, where the lighting is much better, and put him on the counter for a better look.

When I parted the fur on the back of his neck, I almost fainted. I seriously got wobbly for a second.

He had a two-inch gash and I could see straight down to what looked like muscle.

I flailed around for a couple of moments, trying to figure out what to do. Should I try to clean it myself? With what? Would he even hold still for something like this? Does he need stitches? Should I take him to the vet? I spun my tires for a bit before decided that yes, I needed to call the vet. Phone calls are placed, the cat is unceremoniously shoved into his carrier, and I get back into my car.

The vet is just as confused as I am about the cut. Mittens hasn't gone outdoors for probably ten or more years. There was no blood anywhere that I could find in the apartment. No one had bloody paws or whiskers. Stumped.

He got his ruff shaved and surgical-glued, I got handed yet another bottle of antibiotics and wrote out even more post-dated checks to be put in my file. At this point, I have checks stretching to July. I shit you not.

Now, with his half-shaven neck and wounded area, he kind of looks like a zombie took a big old bite out of the back of his head. It's semi-disturbing to look at. The Engineer keeps calling him "Zombie Cat".

*sigh*

The lady at the vet's office who I'm friendly with started laughing as soon as she saw me. "You were just here two weeks ago!" Tell me something I don't know, honey. Tell it to my bank account.

Today started out fairly decent. I actually got up early this morning and even had time to wear more make-up than just eyebrows, something which hasn't been happening all that much lately. The decentness doesn't last long. We're in the middle of a document-collecting drive for a new benefits package and the offices are driving me insane with their unwillingness to do what is required of them. Today, however, is payday. Yay! I get my check and it's for roughly sixty-eight hours and is under seven hundred dollars. Boo. And I don't even get the chance to leave the office to cash said check and get some lunch until about two-thirty.

This is where it gets good.

I drive to the bank, which is located in the Devil's Parking Lot. It's in a little shopping center and is surrounded by a handful of stores that are highly visited. It is also made of evil.

I was driving down a row, heading to the teller lane of the drive-through, and marvelling to myself that the drive-through lane was completely empty. It's never empty like that! I'm going to make it back to the office in record time! Hooray!

Then?

WHAM!

A car I was passing suddenly backs out as I am almost half-way done going behind it. My passenger side door crunches and my vision is replaced by a red haze. You know the scenes in Kill Bill when the Bride sees someone that is on her list to kill and she gets those alarm bells sounding off? Yeah, like that.

I get out and see that I was broad-sided by a goddamn Mercedes driving by a goddamn teenage girl. The Eldorado doesn't look all that bad, but the door is mighty scratched up and there appears to be a small dent or three. The bumper of the Mercedes is scratched all to fuck and my hands start shaking. The girl immediately starts apologizing and telling me that this was all her fault and that she didn't check her mirrors and that she'd really rather handle this without contacting any insurance companies. Being that the Eldorado is actually my father's call, I ring him up and ask him what he would like me to do. Which was a fun conversation in itself. My father really hates getting phone calls from me that start out with, "Hi! I have a problem." especially because they almost always wind up having something to do with the damn car.

He tells me to just get all of her information because he doesn't want to involve the insurance companies, either. I remain unconvinced by the wisdom of this, but it's his car and what he says goes. We exchange information (I even write down her license plate number because I just don't trust this shit) and go about our ways.

As I write this, I am still ticked off by the entire affair. But, wait! It all gets better!

Around five-thirty, my cell phone rings and it's Middle Brother calling me.

"Can you leave work? Like right now?"

As it turns out, he was also involved in a car accident. In a bank parking lot. Backed into by some dippy teenage girl who wasn't looking where she was going. Same bank chain, different branch. Different branch parking lot. Same area damaged on his car.

His issue, however, is that the girl who hit him really nailed him. She gassed the shit out of her car and his passenger side back door is dented and scraped all to fuck. And on top of that, the girl is insisting it wasn't her fault. Despite the fact that she backed into him. And despite the fact that even the cop who was called to the scene explained to her several times and in intricate detaill how my brother couldn't have done a single thing to cause the accident.

Shit. Day.

Personally, I'm still kind of baffled over how my brother and I both were involved in almost identical car accidents in the same goddamn day and in the same general environment, sustaining similar damage to our cars.

I have since spent the rest of the night lying on my couch with Baby and watching movies with the Engineer.
thejunipertree: (Default)
I am, at turns, a caged animal baring its teeth at everyone who happens past and a dancing, spinning top.

The past month has been so incredibly fucked up and insane that I can't comprehend the smallest details. I teeter between soul-crushing lows and OMG EVERYTHING IS AWESOME! highs; odd, even for me and my bizarre cycles.

At a glance:

I'm still very sad over the death of Charlie. I didn't take her body in for a necropsy because I plain just don't have the money. I've put out my feelers for another snake, but I'm taking that slow. I want another scaley friend, but I'm not in a rush. Money, as always, is a factor in this.

One of the cats has fallen ill, Mittens. He used to be as fat as Lunchbox Tinker, but ever since my mother left for the hospital and never came home, he has not been the same. He's a different feline now, which is distressing. The weight got so alarming and his behavior changed so dramatically, that I took him to the vet the other day and received a diagnosis of insufficient kidney function, which in less fancier words basically means that he is in the early stages of kidney failure. Being fifteen years old, he's at great risk of this. Along with diabetes (which Nympho has) and hyperthyroidism (which Misty had). I didn't relish the idea of dealing with another diabetic or hyperthyroid kitty, but I'd take either of those over this. He needs to be on a completely opposite diet of what he had been on and now must be fed in the bathroom to keep the other cats from eating his food and vice versa. He's been on this diet for about a week and I haven't noticed any weight gain, although he's stopped acting so blessed weird all the time. Now it's only part of the time.

My car remains, as ever, an anxiety. The hose was re-soldered back on to the radiator and I was sent on my way to the tune of over five hundred dollars (about $175 of this was for the tow from Trenton). It's still leaking transmission fluid and Lord knows what else. And because of my father's behavior over this (I'm not going to get into it because I'll just get riled up again; needless to say, I don't enjoy people telling me what to do with my own goddamn money), I've been contemplating getting my own car on the road. My own car, with my own car insurance. However, there's a reason why my father pays for everything with the Eldorado: because I can't afford it on my own. There's no way possible I could afford a car payment and an insurance payment. This idea has been backburnered, but I constantly pick it up and hold it to the light.

Work is still work and it still makes me crazy. It's gotten to the point that whenever I'm paged by a certain person who I'll call the Skeksis, I cringe. Or show my teeth to the phone. Or flail around, making obscene hand gestures. I. Hate. That. Woman. I hate her like I have hated no one else before in my entire life. Beyond her simpering buffoonry, there's also the omnipresent specter of layoffs looming over all of our heads. Yes, I've been whoring my resume all over God's green earth.

I've been sick for the past few days. I've had an itchiness all over my face, accompianied by red blotches, and have been suffering through a general all-around ickiness of feeling. At first, I thought it was something I ate on Sunday night because we ordered from a Chinese take-out that we'd never ordered from before. But, the more I examine my symptoms and the more I think about things, I think it's largely stress-related and thusly, largely work-related. I left early on Monday, stayed home on Tuesday, and dragged myself back into the office today. The past few days, I've rarely been vertical and instead, spent a large portion of my time on my couch with any number of cats grouped around me and generally, just felt shitty.

I think I need to start seeing some kind of mental health professional. Problem being, I can not afford the health insurance my work offers. Our lowest, shittiest plan is roughly a hundred dollars. Out of every paycheck. And that wouldn't be the plan I'd pick because it is, after all, shitty. I largely don't qualify for reduced-cost care because, get this, you'll love it: I make too much money. Hah! And I can't even find much information about reduced-cost care on top of that. Lovely, isn't it? I'm still looking; I haven't given up on it and am still open to ideas.

Tomorrow would have been my mother's 63rd birthday. It's gotten to the point where I kind of forget what life was like with her in it, if that makes any sense. I forget and it hurts that I forget. And at the same time, my life is so much easier without dealing with her medical problems that I'm halfway happier without her. And if you think that doesn't affect me in thirty different ways to Sunday, you're sorely fucking mistaken. Guilt for days, I tell you.

So that things aren't all doom and gloom, I went camping this weekend with the Engineer and Miss Ella and Tony, which was quite lovely. Even if the skies opened up on us Saturday afternoon and drenched us to the skin. I laughed my way through the entire spectacle. At one point, we had just finished moving the tents out of The River Runs Fucking Through It and Tony and I glanced at each other. Proceded to crack the fuck up for about ten minutes straight, barely able to breathe from laughing so hard. Later, I got to burn things and talk shit. Two things I am excellent at doing.

Class tonight. Stress Management. Irony does not escape me.

goddamnit

Sep. 5th, 2007 03:14 pm
thejunipertree: (Default)
You know when you see this icon, it's generally never anything good, right?

Right.

So, Friday night. I head out to Trenton to pick up Miss Janette at the train station for a weekend of punch and pie. I'm tooling down 29N at a good clip, making sweet time and rocking out (by myself) to my iPod. Then what happens?

The temperature light flashes at me. I snarl at it and briefly try to talk it out of doing that. Why are you doing that? You should stop that IMMEDIATELY. Five seconds of this proves nothing, so I pull over on the side of the highway to see what I can see.

As soon as I park and shut off the car, great plumes of smoke erupt from my hood. To the point where I thought the goddamn thing was on fire. I pop the hood and everything underneath is covered in coolant and hissing at me with rage. I hissed back, with equal amounts of rage, and got a face full of coolant gas for my troubles.

Shortly after, as I was waiting for the car to cool down so I could check everything out, a NJ DOT truck pulls up behind me and a guy who reminds me an awful lot of Deputy Winston from Cabin Fever gets out to see what my trouble is. He discovers that the hose that goes between my radiator and my expansion tank has blown (and that it looks like it was originally attached to the radiator with epoxy). Tries to reattach it and plug it up, no dice.

(At this point is when Miss Janette called me to tell me that she had reached the train station. I told her to sit tight for a bit.)

Deputy Winston tells me I'm going to need a tow. He gives me a fistful of flares (whoever thought that was a good idea, me and flares) and puts a no-tow tag on my car so the state troopers don't bother with it. Then he fucks off for parts unknown. I frantically call my mechanic for a tow, who apparently has also fucked off for parts unknown. Maybe to hang out with Deputy Winston, I don't know.

I call my father, the Engineer, Joanna, and Tony- for various reasons, not all of them being important. My father tells me to get the tow, the Engineer tells me he's on his way, Joanna laughs at me when I tell her I blew a hose (then asks if I need a ride), and Tony keeps me occupied until the Engineer shows up.

The car gets locked and left on the side of the road. I call the mechanic for a fourth time, this time reaching him, and tell him what's going on and where to find the damn car. The Engineer and I go to get Miss Janette.

I called the mechanic today to see what the hell is going on and he tells me he's not rightly sure why the car overheated. He took her out on the road today, without the hose attached, and it didn't overheat. Says they need to pull the radiator out of the car and send it out to get the hose welded back onto it. This holds the additional caveat that the welding facility may tell us to get bent because the radiator is a factory part and needs to be replaced because of its age. He also tells me that the car is leaking transmission fluid "badly".

What the eff.

The car's going up on the lift to have its innards checked out. I need to call the mechanic tomorrow morning and see what the verdict is.

And I'm tied up in knots.

School starts this week (my first class is actually tonight). And so far, I have a rather impressing array of rides lined up to get me to work and school and home again. However, this can not keep up. My brother brought me to work this morning. The Engineer is picking me up tonight. Wemble is taking me to class tonight and picking me up when it's done. Tomorrow, I'm not quite sure how I'm getting to work, but Wemble's husband is picking me up for class and if I remember correctly, the Engineer is picking me up from class. After that, goose egg.

I had a rental car this weekend for Miss Janette and I to toodle around in, but that got returned yesterday because I just couldn't afford to keep it out any longer. I don't know what I'm going to do.

I especially don't know what I'm going to do if the car needs more fixing than my father is willing to shell out for (for instance, if something is really gone pear-shaped with the transmission). I do not have any money whatsoever to get a new/used car. No money for a down payment and no money for a monthly payment. It's the whole reason why I drive the Eldorado in the first place: it's free.

I'm going to lose my nut. For real.
thejunipertree: (Default)
I'm taking the cat (Nympho) to the vet tonight. This is after cleaning his rather funky ears and giving him a bath last night. He thinks he's unhappy with me now? That feline doesn't even know.

Unfortunately, he has to go and get checked out. He's been losing bits of weight here and there and his back end looks kind of bony. On top of that, he doesn't clean himself anymore and I'm really not digging on that. There's also a bump on his back, like near his hip, and I don't know when that showed up. His fur used to be so thick that it very well could have been underneath this whole time and I would never have known. So, to the vet he goes. Hopefully, everything is minor.

I've begun the process of job-hunting, for myriad reasons. Suffice to say, and without breaking any non-disclosure agreements, it is just time. I've gotten two callbacks already, one of which we keep playing phone tag and the other is a recruiter who apparently loves me and thinks I'm perfect for a specific position.

Problem with that? The position is in Philadelphia and I'd have to take the train to get there. And it's uber-business professional. I have issues with that. And they're not issues like: Oh waaaah, I don't want to take out my piercings! Stop oppressing me!

The issues are moreso because I feel that I am not really a professional. I don't look the part. I don't act the part. I can take the piercings out and cover all the tattoos and wear business-y clothes like the best of them. But somehow, I still wind up looking like I'm a little kid playing dress-up or like I'm some kind of street urchin who raided the suit section at a department store. I also look...scruffy. It's like a talent of mine or something. I'm not polished and every step I take in the effort to look polished just winds up looking false.

I don't know. Despite being a step down in responsibility, the position is a boat-load of money. Free benefits (medical and dental). Three weeks of vacation. Paid holidays. Prestigious non-profit organization that apparently everyone on the planet (except for me, I'd never heard of it, but everybody else flipped the hell out when I mentioned the name) has heard of.

I'm definitely going to interview for it. I just doubt I'm of the caliber they're looking for.

On top of all of this, the Eldorado is in the shop because her catalytic converter is slowly shitting the bed. They're trying to repair the piece, instead of replace it, because it's so freaking expensive to replace them. So, I'm currently driving one of the company cars that hasn't been assigned to anyone.

The car sucks, it's a new-ish Elantra. But, yo. It's got a awesome sound system. hee.
thejunipertree: (Default)
So much stuff to talk about. I'll start at the beginning.

The Black Beast of Calcutta eats my keys )

The Black Beast of Calcutta fails a test )

Charlie )

Apartment Tetris )

Dinner )

Tomorrow is back to work and back to drudging through the day. I need to get up to the college some time this week and speak with financial aid about my not enrolling in summer classes and I need to hit the registrar's office with the information of my major change to Human Services from Business Administration (in preparation for the Thanatology master's in six years). I don't know if I can get out of work at any point to do it, but I reckon I need to just try.
thejunipertree: (Default)
Some jackass ran out of gas this week, in the middle of a left hand turn on campus property. They completely blocked traffic going both ways and generally bunged things up for one and all. What a douchebag!

Oh, wait.

That was me.
thejunipertree: (Default)
My allergies were kicking my ass horribly yesterday, so I decided to call out of work and spend the entire day watching bad television while firmly planted on the couch. Unfortunately, the apartment building Powers That Be decided it was a FINE day for grass-mowing and mowed all the lawns near the building. I live on the ground floor. All my windows were open. My sinuses, they wept.

I also managed to completely forget that it was the five-year anniversary of 09-11-01 and thusly, spent the first two hours of being awake being incredibly depressed and angry as I watched the old footage of people jumping from the towers. Finally, I changed the channel to the Food Network because it was the only station that was safe.

I hadn't been planning on going to my Algebra class, but by mid-day, I was starting to perk up a bit. So, I washed my hair and got changed into non-cat hair covered clothing. Got outside and started getting into my car.

Where I proceeded to bang my head on the car door as I was getting in. First I hit the window with my ear, bounced off of it and hit the actual car. Then I bounced off that and hit the window again. With my head. I rang my fucking skull like a bell clapper. It still aches a bit and my ear is all puffy and sore. On the way to class, some bird flying overhead dropped its dead prey on the hood of my car. *splat* Ugh.

My Algebra class went rather well, so the rest of my night wasn't spent sulking. And the Engineer found me in rather good spirits, as I'd completely forgotten about all the mess that had happened earlier in the day. Amazing, the power of Algebra.

I'm not as dumb as I thought I was!

I'm not too psyched about English class tonight, though. The professor had mentioned last week that he might have us pair up into teams and brainstorm with each other about our essays that are due next week. I don't need to pair up with anybody. I don't need to brainstorm with anybody. I really hate activities like that, especially when everyone who sits on my side of the room look like meatheads. The same kind of meatheads that I ferociously hated in high school.

I just want to write my essay, by myself, in peace.
thejunipertree: (Default)
Joanna idiot-taxed her pet crackhead and thusly, I wound up with a new digital camera. Bitches best recognize! I am now going to be out of control, since it's been so long since I've had anything resembling a semi-decent camera.

So, what did I do?
Took random photos of random things.

hooray! )

I am very pleased.
thejunipertree: (Default)
Transmission fluid is really a rather lovely shade of crimson, so I learned today.

I drove to the bank this afternoon with Joanna, realizing as I was parked in line that my steering was making an odd sort of grinding echo. hrrrm, thinks I. Maybe I need power steering fluid? That would certainly be odd, considering I just had all of my hoses and suchlike replaced not that long ago.

When I got back to work and popped the hood of the Eldorado, I noticed that power steering fluid had begun to spray all over the inside (again) and that I was running precariously low on power steering fluid (as I'd predicted).

Rummaging through my trunk, I found a bottle of transmission fluid that Joanna had given me for emergencies. Transmission fluid can double as power steering fluid. Thankfully.

So, we filled the Beast back up. As Joanna was pouring it into the receptacle, my only words were: Goddamn! That's a fucking INCREDIBLE shade of red! I wish my hair were that colour!

And so, the pondering on whether or not I should start dying my hair red again has begun. It's a little late this season, but it's finally arrived.

Additionally, it looks like one of my new hoses is slowly leaking. Drip...drip...drip. This is causing the loss of fluid. I am making very angry faces in my mechanic's direction because this was supposed to be fixed ages ago. Now I'll have to take the car to the mechanic, which is over half an hour away, leave it there, and beg people to pick me up for work at ungodly hours of the morning.

This is how I roll, apparently.
thejunipertree: (Default)
What I bought everyone else for the holidays: )

Mostly a good holiday. Wee bit of the uncomfortable when Eldest Brother showed up right after dinner tonight, but he managed to behave himself and actually he and I had what passes as a normal conversation in this family. I got uppitty and decided to make dinner again, which was lasagna (which I've never made before), green salad with various fresh vegetables, and homemade garlic bread (that I burned, a little). After dinner, quite a few of my friends showed up for chocolate pie (which I made) and shit-talking. I drank too much Kahlua and smoked a bit too much pot, which made me at my peak of hilarity. And Wemble and her husband left only about an hour and a half ago or thereabouts.

It's quiet now. And the apartment is almost immaculate (I cleaned all day before people came over). I don't necessarily have to go into work tomorrow because we were given the option of not coming in and receiving a paid holiday or coming in and receiving eight hours of holiday time on top of the hours we worked. I'm going to go in, just to get up some hours, but I'm going in late and I'm not staying forever.

However, now that I've just typed that, I remembered that on Friday, my car decided to start vomiting power-steering fluid and that it might not be a good idea to drive it tomorrow. So, I don't know. When my father looked under the car today, there was no power-steering fluid to be found. So, that leaves me wondering if maybe I just overfilled the damn thing (because I put some in there Friday morning) or if something is actually wrong. I have plans to take the car to the mechanic on Tuesday because of this and some (possibly) loose belts making it go grindy.

I don't know. I'm quite tired and still a little bit stoned, so I'm fairly certain I'm just rambling at this point.
thejunipertree: (Default)
The Good:
The Cadillac has been returned to me, with a shiny new water pump and various hoses/belts. Hopefully, she'll stop acting assy and beginning driving like a normal car for me. Because I can't take this shit. My father and I have made the deal that he will pay the mechanic and I will pay him back slowly, whenever I get the extra money. Still don't know the total, however. And once it looks like the car's going to remain ok, we're going to start working on restoring it entirely.

The Bad:
Simon, the Golden Rat Who Can Do No Wrong, has a tumour, a very small one.
Jesus. I can't get a break, can I?

The Doesn't Make Any Sense:
I'm so thirsty, it's starting to make me feel queasy. And the only thing helping is absolutely ice cold water.
thejunipertree: (Default)
Further proof that God hates me:

I found the door panels for the Eldorado on eBay just now. Driver side and passenger. The very colour I'm looking for and in mint condition. Not to mention, I also found a dashboard, which I've been looking for as well.

All this for a car that I might have to get rid of.

I'm probably overreacting with all of this, but I've got a pit in my stomach. One, because if I have to give this car up, I'll have no vehicle and I have no money to buy a new one. Two, I love my car like nothing else in this world. It is my baby. And the idea that there's a chance I may have to get rid of it is making me sick. No rational thinking or logic is going to change my mind on this or make me feel better.

Up until now, everything that has gone wrong with the car has been fairly inconsequential. Yeah, I had problems with the air conditioning, but that doesn't effect the engine which is pretty much the most important thing to worry over. And I had a problem with the fuel injectors being clogged. Also, not a big deal. I'm really hoping this is just a hose/belt problem like we've been thinking and not something serious. Just about everything else under the hood right now is fairly new and in great condition.

...gah. I need to go to bed.
thejunipertree: (will you still love me when I'm down and)
Not only is the car still alive, but I even have it back!

Apparently, all of the issues could be chalked up to the old and corroded fuel filter. And the fact that I was two quarts low on transmisson fluid. It would appear that I've a tiny leak and now there's a third thing I need to check once a week, to make sure that I'm not running low.

My father also told the mechanic to check out my air conditioning, which hasn't worked since last summer, when we had it fixed the first time. They installed a new blower and every thing seemed a-ok, in fact I was highly enjoying life as I drove down the highway with all the windows up and the air running, until it decided to punk out on me. One minute, frosty air shooting through the vents at my face. The next, nada.

Tomorrow will prove to be a phone-calling event when I ring the mechanic and ask him what the fuck is this business, my air not working.

I spent the day with my dad, who came home early from work, which was nice. We don't see a whole hell of a lot of each other and when we do, it tends to be very short. Today, we had several hours (two of which included watching Shaun of the Dead together, which he found very silly, but enjoyable).

He keeps discussing all manner of legal paperwork for when he dies, which isn't putting me in the best of moods. I recognize that I need to know these things, but it doesn't make it any less depressing. My father, who has been a bear/fireplug hybrid of a man my entire life, is not allowed to grow weak and die. It's simply just not acceptable. I know that he's the sort to just drop dead all of a sudden, there's next to no fear of having to take care of him on his sick bed like I had to do with my mom.

To be honest, I'm not sure which is worse.
thejunipertree: (Default)
Tomorrow, I have the dubious pleasure of taking my car to the mechanic.

She's been feeling poorly for quite some time and I've been trying out mini-fixes, to no avail. I know I definitely need a new fuel filter (and every time I tell the oil change place to change it, they never have the one needed for my car), but other then that, it's all up in the air.

It seems to be having what I can only describe as semi-stalls. Hesitation, I reckon, is the actual word for it. I hit the gas and it's kind of a half-hearted "Oh, if I really must...", then acceleration. I poured a fuel-injector cleaner into the gas tank, which seemed to help for that day's worth of driving, but after that, the problems returned. The injectors might be bad, or the fuel pump (which is what some guy suggested to me, after eavesdropping on a smoke break conversation I was having).

Driving has been a combination of "c'mon, c'mon, what the FUCK?! I swear to God, I'm selling you and buying a Hearse" and "oh no, baby. I didn't mean any of those things I said. I love you, I do. Now please work for me?"

I'm well aware of how much of a dolt I am, there's no need to point that out to me. But, I fucking adore this car. I begged my father to not sell it, demanded that he not sell it. And when I finally needed my own car two years ago, he gave it to me. Despite all of its failings and quirks, maybe even because of them, it suits me. It is most definitely my car.

So, tomorrow is going to be spent at the mechanic's, which is fairly far from my apartment. My father's house is down the road from there, about a five minute walk through the grass (no sidewalks in that area), and hang out in his living room until the mechanic calls me.

If I'm feeling particularly uppitty, I might go for a walk in the woods behind his house, which are dense and sprawling. Depending on the weather and how adventurous I feel. Or I might just go to the back of his property and visit for awhile with the graves of Aardie, Muffin, Midnight, Daisy Mae, Shiloh, Nicodemus, Matthew, and Solomon.

One day, I'm going to put a little wrought iron fence around that area. Have my own little pet cemetery.
thejunipertree: (cute dead things bat)
Job interview today at Samaritan Hospice.

It went rather well, I believe. I was my ever-charming self and didn't come off like a complete babbling moron during conversation. It's not very clear whether or not my chances are good for landing this position, however. The interviewer told me that they had a couple of candidates in mind, but that I looked so good on paper, he had to call me in for an interview (hee! my ego, it burns!). I know I definitely impressed them during the interview, which was a shocker for me, but if they've already got candidates in mind, they're probably people with a fucktonne more experience than I possess.

At any rate, it still was good. Angel graciously loaned me her car to drive to it, since the Black Beast of Calcutta (tm) does not currently possess working air conditioning and it was NARSTY-FUCKING HOT today. I didn't wish to show up for my appointment looking like a rather bedraggled, sweaty street urchin, complete with jacked up hair.

The downside to getting this job would be the dress code, which is strictly business casual. Now, my current place of employment also has a business casual rule, but we're a little lax about it. I can wear my piercings and show my tattoos and no one cares. People frequently wear jeans. But, if I started working for Samaritan, I would have to give my wardrobe a serious overhaul.

The other downside would be that I no longer would have my own office, which, if I may say, is pretty fucking awesome and one of the reasons why I like my job so much. Again, yet another reason to wish doom and destruction on Doctor Bad Touch. If it weren't for his insanity, it would be the perfect place to work. grr.

My entire drive to the interview was spent thinking about if I ever saw Beau Sia perform live, I would throw my panties at the stage in physical demonstration of how much I think he rules. In a burst of sheer cosmic alignment, later on this evening, he was featured on Def Poetry Jam.

I did not throw my panties at the television, but I did seriously contemplate it.
thejunipertree: (sunlight wakes me up)
This afternoon, while driving to Delaware for cigarettes with Thee Pumpkin Girl, I noticed that the middle finger on my right hand suddenly and sharply hurt when I grasped the steering wheel. Peering at it, while swerving into the middle lane like a moron, I noticed that I had a small discoloured bump right under the second knuckle bend.

It's a hard, little knot right under the skin. Like a BB lodged into my flesh. Blueish, like a bruise. Since I'm not inclined towards shooting myself full of BBs, I've no idea what the hell it actually is.

A photo of the finger, despite the fact that you can barely see what I'm talking about (you can, however, see my freakish hands and how the first two fingers are even), can be found here )

It hurts when I press down on it and a little when I clench my fingers. At first, I thought it might be a wart (which would suck verily, due to the location, it's right on the bend of my finger), but it doesn't look like any wart I've ever seen. The Engineer says it looks like a bruise, but I've never seen a hard bruise before.

I reckon I'll just keep an eye on it, for now. I don't have any health insurance, currently, because it is cost prohibitive (yet another reason to get a new job, our health care is beyond disgustingly expensive). If it turns out that I must go to the doctor to get this taken care of, I'll have to figure something out.

To make today even better, when I was at the tobacco outlet in New Castle, my car decided it didn't want to start back up again, after being parked and shut off so that I could go into the store. I turned the key and...nothing. No clicking, no groaning of the engine, no half-way turning over. Nada. I tried it a couple more times and looked at TPG with worry. It was rather hot outside and there was a creepy homeless guy almost directly sitting in front of the car, I really did not want to be going through something wretched like a pissed off alternator or something wrong with my starter.

I got out, because it was far too hot to be sitting in the car with the windows up, and called The Engineer to let him know that we had run into a bit of trouble, then called my father. I ran through the list of questions he always asks me whenever something is wrong with car and when none of my answers turned up anything useful, began giving him directions on how to get to where we were.

He convinced me to try starting the car one more time, before he started the trek down, and I got back in. I cajoled her a bit, before turning the key, something which my father began laughing at, C'mon, baby-girl. I take back every bad thing I've ever said about you. You're not ghetto at all, I swear. You're the best Caddy in the world. then hit the ignition.

Disco! It started!

After a bit of grumbling, of course. But, she started. I guess my sweet-talking worked. Yet another thing I'm going to have to keep an eye on. Hopefully, everything will be ok when I go to leave for work in the morning. I can't even drive the Malibu if I put the Eldorado in the shop, because my brother left for North Carolina today and either has the car, or has it parked at his friend's house. So, if she needs to go into the shop, it'll be me begging for rides to and from work all week, or until I get her back.

How fucking depressing.

On the drive back from Delaware, I day-dreamed about scrapping this beast and buying an old Hearse. Something, I reckon, which would be a lot like jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire.

To liven things up a bit, here's a photo of Simon, doing what he does best: being fat and cute.
Simon, the Stout )
thejunipertree: (noir et blanc)
Friday brought a weekend motivational retreat with one Miss Janette. Much cawing and flapping commenced on her arrival, despite a momentary round of "Where are you standing? I can see all the same things you can see."

I drove to Trenton for the first time by myself. For the first time period, if you want to get truly technical. Cigarettes, citrus hard candies and the sweet sound of no working car radio accompanied me on my drive up there. I seem to have done something to offend my car's radio, because it hasn't been speaking to me for weeks, no matter how hard I slam the ashtray. I press the orange power button and it sits there brokenly grinning in silent recrimination.

Miss J and I staggered back to the apartment and dumped all of our belongings on the Engineer's floor, smoked far too many cigarettes and headed right back out again. We had diner food (guess who's wallet was returned to them, sans four hundred dollars in cash?) with the Amazing Larry, more flapping and preening of feathers in the aisles of the local video store, then a home viewing of The Grudge, complete with Bitch Vision (TM) for Miss J. She and I then stayed up until five-thirty in the morning eating Meox Mix, being raspy voiced from smoking too much and drinking wine (her) and Bacardi (me).

Saturday saw us rising quite late, something which I haven't done in ages (although I will sleep for days if no one steps in and puts a stop to my slumber). No breakfast, only Ghiardelli hot chocolate in a black mug with bats on (mine). Then she and I ran out to do Miss Janette and Tara things, which eventually involved my buying a black party dress for an occasion that is not scheduled and thusly, does not exist.

Miss Robin and Saint Rick joined us later that evening, meeting us at the doors to the apartment building. More diner food (with the added bonus of me fighting with the wait staff about labret piercings), another movie (Love Object), then Miss J and I staying up until six thirty in the morning.

There is nothing quite like being breathless and doubled over a half-folded out sofa bed, repeating over and over again: No habla Pringles! No habla Pringles!

Morning breaks and I bury my face under blankets. Reality has become a bit thin and I'm starting to notice a pattern between onsets of reality breaks and my eating patterns. Notes are made to self to look into this, then promptly forgotten.

I bought lovely red glass and dark brass candlesticks for my bordello bedroom, which has not seen my body in three days. A new clock with a hidden door (more clocks should have hidden compartments, I think). Candy. A nasty sandwich at Borders cafe, which appeared to have had dried out and dessicated grass clippings springled over top of it. I scraped off the bulk of it with my plastic and useless knife, but there was still the distinct flavour of Mmmm...Lawncare in every bite. The white cheddar and fontina cheese was also not melted all the way through and therefore, there were large chunks of Wow, cold! cheese in the middle of it.

To cheer myself up, I booty-disco-danced in cat-headed slippers behind an oblivious stranger in the soft drink aisle of the late night grocery store. Later, Miss J taught me the wonders of pomengrate juice mixed with seltzer. Something which is odd-tasting, but wholly enjoyable. I may buy some on my drive home from work.

The drive back to Trenton this morning was rainy and precarious. We talked all manner of trash. I'MA CUT A BITCH! My drive home was silent, as my radio seemed to still be angry at me for whatever unforgiveable slight I committed against it.

Work is work, as ever. Although today is blessed with my hating the non-disclosure agreement I signed when I started working here because there is SOME BIG SHIT going on and I'm about to explode from it all. I'm the only non-management staff member who knows and I have no one to flap about it to.

Today is a very sad day, indeed.
I think I'll celebrate by going outside for a cigarette in the rain and the mist.
thejunipertree: (poppies)
Earlier this afternoon, I decided that it was high time I took my gift certificates that I received for my birthday and Christmas to the mall and finally spend them. I had two MAC ones ($50 and $20) and one Torrid ($50). For the past couple of months, I have been desparately needing to hit MAC because I was out of a couple of key items and I've been wanting to start getting other make-up from them (it's like crack, I tell you), but didn't want to go to the mall during the holiday season because it's a mad house that time of the year. And Miss Robin told me that a Torrid had finally opened in this area and I wanted to check it out.

MAC was lovely, as usual. I stocked up on my essentials (though after coming home, I found out I bought both of them in the wrong shade) and bought five eyeshadows (one of which I mistakenly believed to be a light grey in the store turned out to be a light green at home). Torrid, however, was a bit of a washout. Some of the clothes in there caught my eye, but they were either the wrong colour or my size wasn't there. None of the shoes really piqued my interest and they didn't have any stripey stockings at the moment. Hoom. I'm just going to sit on the gift card for now and see what happens when the stock changes.

My car decided to help me celebrate this spending spree by blowing out the only working headlight. Glorious! I had to drive the twenty-five minute way home with my high beams on and was flashed by not one, but two cops. With their search light, which is apparently common practice.

I also needed to stop at the store and buy cigarettes, as I had exactly four of them left and that would not last me the rest of the night. After pulling into the parking lot, an employee shook her head at me and mouthed "We're closed" through my car window. Fucking hell. The closest other store is the local cop hang-out and I was not going to barrel up to that location with my high beams blaring. So, I got to the apartment building, let the Engineer out, and he drove to the store for my smokes. Ladies and gentlemen, the best boyfriend in the world.

Left to my own devices while he was running this errand for me, I once again examined my newly red-as-all-fucking-hell hair in the mirror. I'm really not quite sure if I'm entirely comfortable with it. Every since I dyed it, I've been feeling extremely uneasy and not happy with my appearance. I can't wear a lot of the make-up I already own and I'm certainly not going to go out and buy a bunch of shit just to match my goddamn hair colour.

It's a perfectly lovely colour and I do like how it looks, but I don't think it's for me. Because of all these misgivings, and perhaps this is the real reason for them, I'm beginning to feel the call of the blue-black again. But, I'm highly undecided. Red fades entirely too quickly, no matter what shade I use and tends to make me look pink-skinned. Maybe a deeper red instead? I'm not sure.

Five years ago, I wouldn't have thought twice about having nuclear red hair. Five years ago, however, I was a very different person. I've changed enormously in that span of time, some good and some bad. And I quite like the person I've become. The intensely coloured hair reminds me too much of the Tara I used to be and I didn't care for her all that much.

I don't know. Maybe I'm just being silly, putting all this stock and thought into the colour of my hair.

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thejunipertree

January 2011

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